


the ashes of a heart (that burned for what it loved)

by irondadismyreligion



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Awesome May Parker (Spider-Man), Awesome Michelle Jones, Ben Parker Dies, Bully Flash Thompson, Bullying, Good Friend Ned Leeds, Grief/Mourning, High School, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Irondad, Michelle Jones Is a Good Bro, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Peter Parker Has Nightmares, Peter Parker Has Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Supportive May Parker (Spider-Man), Teacher Tony Stark, Teen Peter Parker, Tony Stark - High School Math and Science Teacher, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Cares About His Students, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:01:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22093777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irondadismyreligion/pseuds/irondadismyreligion
Summary: It's Peter Parker's freshman year at Midtown Tech. After Uncle Ben's death, and Skip, Peter doesn't know if he'll be able to cope.Luckily, he has a slightly eccentric teacher with unconventional methods and a funny goatee that really gives a shit.And an aunt who's practically a saint.Maybe freshman year won't be so bad?AU - No Powers
Relationships: May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones & Peter Parker, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 103
Kudos: 384





	1. my soul is aching for you

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! This is my new story, a high school AU in which Peter is entering freshman year with Tony Stark as one of his teachers. There are going to be mentions of rape/non-con and suicidal thoughts, so please stay safe! Enjoy reading :)

“Are you excited for your first day, honey?”

Peter shrugged his shoulders, offering a neutral expression to his aunt.

He was, in fact, terrified to start his first year of high-school. Not only would it come with the normal stresses of being a freshman, but Peter knew that everyone would be talking about what had happened to Ben. 

That was what Peter was least looking forward to. Over the summer break, he’d witnessed his Uncle Ben die in a random shooting, and the news had spread like wildfire, according to Ned and MJ. 

Ever since then, Peter had been barely scraping by. Ben’s passing had hit them both, hard. Afflicted with nightmares and panic attacks, he had no idea if he would even be able to cope at school. Peter thought he was just beginning to get past what happened with Skip, something that he’d never even told May or Ben about, but the memories resurfaced amongst the trauma of his uncle’s passing. 

_ I have to do this. I have to be normal, for May.  _

So Peter decided he would endure people whispering behind his back and giving less than altruistic glances of pity toward him. 

He didn’t even want to think about Flash. 

May frowned, rubbing his shoulder comfortingly. “It’s gonna be okay, kiddo. And if you need me, you call me, alright? Even if you just need to talk.” 

Peter nodded stiffly, pushing up his glasses over the bridge of his nose. 

May pulled Peter into her warm embrace and pressed a light kiss on his forehead. 

Peter leaned in and closed his eyes, cheek resting against hers. 

“I wish Ben was here.”

She squeezed him tighter. “I know, hon’, me too.”

Peter knew he couldn’t delay the inevitable anymore. 

“I’d better go.” 

They pulled apart, but May held him at arm’s length for a moment, lingering. 

“I’m so proud of you, Peter. I love you so much.”

Peter smiled weakly, wishing he could run to his room and hide under the covers forever. “Love you too, May.”

She let go of his forearms, giving him another peck on the forehead. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

_________

The walk to the subway was something Peter had always enjoyed. Ben had always walked Peter to the subway before work at the station. It was something of a ritual between them. Whether it was silent or filled with conversation, Peter had come to accept it as one of the best parts of his routine. It was their time to bond, just like he and May would go out for Thai when Ben was working the night shift.

Now, he felt more alone than ever. There was an empty space beside him, achingly vacant and void of the one person he longed to talk to most. The pavement looked grayer, and the streets looked dirtier. People walking past seemed to smile less. 

He wondered if it was Ben that brightened up the world around him, or if it was the grief tinting everything a shade darker. 

Peter stuffed in his earphones and tried to drown out his internal anguish. He pulled up his hoodie and gripped onto the shoulder straps of his bag tightly. 

_ Please, don’t make me go.  _

_ Don’t make me do this.  _

_ I can’t do this.  _

Peter made it through half of his playlist by the time he got to Midtown.

Drawing in a few shallow breaths, Peter crossed the threshold of the school, shoulders building with increasing tension. They were told to go to the gym to get their schedules, so that is where he headed, hoping desperately to avoid Flash or even better, to run into Ned and MJ on the way there. 

The gym was packed to the brim with teenagers milling around, comparing schedules and catching up on what happened over the break. The incessant chatter was a little overwhelming, but once Peter picked up his schedule and spotted Ned sitting in the bleachers, he calmed down somewhat. Ned was familiar and comfortable, his absolute best friend. If Peter had to endure high school, at least they were together to do it. 

“Hey man.”

Ned perked up instantly, his face widening into a bright smile. They did their secret handshake, laughing towards the end, and Peter sat down next to him, shoulders relaxing somewhat. 

“Where’s MJ?” Peter asked, looking around for her. He thought that they would have been together by now. 

“Didn’t you see the text on the group chat?” Peter shook his head in confusion. “Her flight was delayed coming back from Hawaii. She won’t be back at school until tomorrow.”

Peter’s face fell. “Oh, that sucks.”

Ned suddenly grew timid and apologetic. “Oh, and I have bad news… Mom finally got me into the ophthalmologist this afternoon so I’ll have to leave before lunch.”

Peter groaned, mentally unprepared to face any portion of their day alone. “On the first day? Really?”

Ned nodded resignedly. “Sorry, dude.” 

Peter sighed, attempting to give him a reassuring smile. “It’s alright, I’ll be fine.” 

They quickly compared schedules and found that they had many classes together, Algebra 1, Gym, Physical Science and World History, as well as lunch and homeroom. Peter had English and Robotics by himself. He hoped that he shared those with MJ, although he doubted she would have chosen Robotics. 

Microphone static interrupted their conversation about what teachers they had. Their principal, Mr Morita, stood at the lectern on stage, clearly waiting for everyone to be quiet. 

“Alright, can everyone please take a seat?”

The bustling teens scrambled to the bleachers, and it was just Peter’s luck for Flash to choose the seat behind him. The boy smirked and leaned over Peter’s shoulder.

“‘Sup, Penis? How was your summer? Say, I heard your uncle-” Another screech of the microphone drowned out the rest of Flash’s insult, for which Peter was grateful. 

“Okay, freshmen, welcome to Midtown Tech! We are thrilled to start a new journey with you all this year and look forward to getting to know each of you. Today, most of your classes will be introductions to your teachers, subjects and to those of you who don’t know each other, so no need to stress. Hopefully, everyone has their schedules by now, so if everyone could please exit the gym and make their way to homeroom, that would be wonderful. We’ve stationed teachers in the halls if anyone gets lost. Thank you, and have a great first day.”

Principal Morita seemed genuine, but Peter had to cringe at his positivity. Did the man even understand how wrong it was to get hyped over a new school year?

There was an immediate movement of bodies swarming toward the door. Peter and Ned tried their best to avoid scuffling with anyone, but of course Flash had to run past, almost bowling Peter over, yelling, “Oh, sorry Penis.” 

Peter couldn’t wait to start classes. It would be his luck that Flash was in every one of them. 

He glanced down at his schedule and saw that they were looking for room S3 with a teacher called Mr Stark. Luckily there was a map on the back of the paper and he and Ned found their way easily, before most of the other kids. 

A man no older than forty, wearing dress pants, a suit coat and a graphic tee was writing on the board in all capitals. He had choppy salt and pepper hair with a goatee that was shaved unlike anything Peter had ever seen before. He turned and greeted them with a smile before turning back to the board to finish whatever he was writing. 

Peter liked him already. 

The board read, ‘Welcome to homeroom,” and underneath, “Tony Stark,” with a smiley face next to it. 

They took seats in the third row and waited for the rest of the students to turn up as Mr Stark organised some papers on his desk. Soon, Flash meandered in with the last few stragglers, queuing a shared sigh between both Peter and Ned. He, again, chose the seat behind Peter. 

_ Great, _ Peter thought,  _ I get to spend the whole year being tormented.  _

“Alright, kiddies. Welcome to homeroom. This is your base for the rest of the year. I’m hoping that by now all of you can read, but if not,” the teacher said, smirking, “you can call me Tony, or Mr Stark, or whatever you would like. I’m a big fan of nicknames, so throw whatever you want at me. Extra brownie points if it’s inventive.”

Mr Stark casually slung himself over his desk, legs dangling over the edge as he faced the class, who were paying close attention to this seemingly eccentric teacher. 

“I want to go over a few of my rules before we continue, just so everyone is on the same page. First, I have a zero-tolerance bullying policy. If I catch you being disrespectful or cruel toward another student, be prepared to face the consequences. Second, cursing is permitted, but only tastefully or to add essential dramatic flair. Never to put someone down.”

A few students giggled uncertainly at that. 

“Lastly, my door is open to every one of you whenever you need it. I’m usually here during lunch, so if you need a safe space to clear your head or have a teen crisis,” he said, waggling his eyebrows, “make use of it. I understand that high school can be rough sometimes, so please, don’t feel like you can’t come to see me for a hand.” 

Peter and Ned looked at each other hopefully. It seemed like they had finally gotten a cool teacher. Peter was ecstatic to remember he had Mr Stark for algebra and robotics.

_ Maybe this year won’t be so bad.  _

“Alright, I’m gonna hand out some loose-leaf paper and I want you guys to quickly write down three things about yourself before you leave for your first class while I do roll call.” 

As the sheet was placed on his desk, Peter’s brain went vacant. It was all tumbleweed up there. He hated this kind of thing. 

Fiddling with his pencil, Peter decided to draw a meme instead, hoping that Mr Stark wouldn’t mind. He seemed like the kind of person that would appreciate it. 

Choosing one of his favourites, Peter quickly sketched a Pepe the frog with tears streaming down his face.

He labelled it, ‘When you realize there are 179 more days of freshman year’, and signed his name at the bottom.

He was rather proud of it, considering it totally encapsulated his mood about high school. 

Folding his paper in half, Peter hesitantly handed it to Mr Stark as he passed his desk. 

“Peter, right?”

“Yeah.” 

Mr Stark kept walking. 

Checking his schedule, Peter saw he had Mr Stark’s classes, algebra and robotics for a double in the afternoon. At least that was something to look forward too. 

________

Lunch came quickly, much to Peter’s dismay. Ned had already left for his appointment, and so Peter was sitting alone, hunched over his tray in the cafeteria with the hood of his jumper pulled up. 

God, he wished Ned and MJ were there. Peter’s mind kept wandering off to Ben, to Skip, and with nothing to distract, he succumbed to his darker thoughts. 

_ Ben’s dead body deformed by a pool of blood at his abdomen. The sound of the gunshot, so direct and vile, so merciless, resounding in his eardrums. His uncle’s empty face, form so lifeless and drained of anything resembling Ben.  _

_ Skip’s hand trailing down his back, around his hips. Skip telling him to shut up. To stop crying. _

Peter had never wanted to leave a place so much. 

That is until Flash and his goons decided to join him. They slid their trays onto the table and sat opposite him, large grins plastered on their faces. 

“So Parker, what’s it like to be an orphan and then lose your uncle, huh?”

Peter stared at his hands. 

_ Ignore him.  _

Flash continued, seemingly unfazed. “I couldn’t believe the headline when I heard. Ben Parker, policeman and decorated officer takes a bullet for orphaned nephew. How utterly...disappointing. I mean, really, the bullet was meant for you. But I guess we couldn’t be that lucky, could we?”

Peter’s hands began to shake. 

_ Stop. Stop shaking.  _

“I don’t know how I’d be able to live with myself if I killed my uncle, but I guess you do, don’t you, Penis?”

Flash’s friends didn’t hold back their laughter. Peter numbly registered that his face was wet. He hadn’t realised he’d been crying. 

His hands continued to tremor. 

“Why don’t you do us a favour and take a bullet like your uncle did?”

Peter slammed his tray across the table, anger and sorrow bubbling, boiling over in his chest. Rising up to his feet, Peter ran to the closest empty corridor, each bout of laughter behind forcing him on. His palms were aching. He didn’t know why.

_ I don’t know how I’d be able to live with myself if I killed my uncle.  _

_ I guess we couldn’t be that lucky, could we? _

He opened the door to the first classroom he found and slammed it behind him, sinking to the floor. Peter hung his head and breathed in deeply, pressing the heel of his hands into his eyes. He desperately needed to calm down, but his shaky breaths were very persistent. Peter was having a panic attack, but now May wasn’t here to help him through it. 

_ It was all my fault. Ben’s dead because of me.  _

_ I don’t deserve to be alive.  _

His windpipe closed up, and Peter was struggling to breathe. He panicked further, gripping at his throat. 

_ The bullet was meant for you.  _

_ A hand rested on his shoulder.  _

“Hey, kid, I want you to take in a few deep breaths for me, okay? Just follow as I count.” Peter was too occupied to place the deep, roughened voice, although it sounded vaguely familiar. 

_ I can’t breathe. _

Peter struggled, clawing at his throat.

“Yes you can.”

He said that aloud. 

“Just follow my count. One, two, three, four, five,” the voice repeated, breathing in deeply to exaggerate the noise. 

_ One, two, three, four, five.  _

After a few rounds, Peter’s breathing began to even out, although his stands still trembled uncontrollably. 

“You’re doing so well, everything’s alright. Just a few more deep breaths for me, okay?”

Peter tried to focus on the voice, his panic fading gradually. The calming tone acted as a sort of anchor, accompanied by the hand on his shoulder. It grounded him. 

Slowly, he opened his puffy, bloodshot eyes. His vision was spotty, but he could make out that Mr Stark, his homeroom teacher, was crouched down in front of him, features concerned. 

“I-I...I,” he stuttered, still trying to make sense of what he was doing there and  _ Peter, why are you crying in front of your teacher?  _

He was crying? 

“It’s okay.” 

_ I can’t believe I’m crying on my first day of school.  _

Peter’s eyes dazed around confusedly, still disoriented. 

He was numb. So, so numb and yet feeling everything so intensely. 

_ God, I wish I could just end this all.  _

“Peter, it’s okay. You’re okay. You’re in S3. I’m Mr Stark, remember? From homeroom this morning.”

Peter’s tears continued to fall. 

_ Stop. Stop Crying.  _

He felt a pressure on his shoulder. 

_ Am I dying? I feel like I’m dying.  _

“Peter? You’re alright, everything is alright. You’re safe.”

_ I want Ben. Where’s Ben? _

Mr Stark gently unfurled Peter’s fingers, wincing at the crescent-shaped wounds stained with blood that were left there. He’d dug them into his palms. 

The sudden release of pain must have shocked Peter out of his dazed stupor. He suddenly became very aware of where he was and what had just happened. 

He finally met Mr Stark’s eyes, some sense of reality gripping him. 

_ You just had a panic attack in front of a teacher.  _

_ Pathetic.  _

“Hey, Peter. You’re okay.” Mr Stark’s hand maintained a steady weight on his shoulder. 

Peter minutely nodded, wiping at his eyes messily. “Sorry you had to see that. I thought this classroom was empty.” 

“Don’t be, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” the man assured, moving to a cross-legged position in front of the teen. 

Peter couldn’t believe he’d made a fool of himself in front of the only teacher he actually liked. 

_ You’re pathetic.  _

_ Ben should never have taken that bullet for you.  _

“Wanna tell me what’s going through that head of yours?” 

Peter shrugged his shoulders, unwilling to divulge anything.

_ You don’t deserve his sympathy.  _

“Not really.”

Mr Stark shifted, offering a small, knowing smile to the boy. “I know it sounded like a yes or no question, but my rule is that if you’re here, I gotta know why, so I can help.” 

“You already did that.”

“Humor me.”

Peter had never had a teacher that was ever this concerned. It was kind of jarring. A part of him wished the teacher would just go away and leave him be. Another part wanted to confide everything in his head. 

But mostly, he just wanted Ben. 

“You probably know half of the reason. I bet all the teachers know by now.”

Mr Stark nodded, agreeing. “Maybe. But I’d rather hear it from you.” 

Peter became very interested in looking at his hands. He fiddled with them, avoiding the teacher’s gaze. He studied the nail-shaped indents in his hands, crusty with blood. 

“It was just some kids. It’s nothing big, really. Doesn’t even matter.” 

Mr Stark’s forehead creased. “I think that it does matter. Especially if it’s enough to bring on a panic attack.”

Peter winced at those words. 

_ Panic attack.  _

“What if I told you that talking about it would be so excruciatingly painful that I’d have to move schools out of utter embarrassment and shame?” Peter attempted, voice ladenly thick with desperation. 

Mr Stark quirked an eyebrow at the confession and considered his response. “I’ll tell you what. This time, I’ll let it slide, but if it happens again, I need to know about it, okay?” 

Peter accepted, relief flooding through him. 

They sat for a moment in silence, Peter contemplating the best way to walk out of school unnoticed until Mr Stark suddenly jumped to his feet, causing Peter to flinch slightly.

“You want a cookie?” He quickly shook his head, muttering to himself, “Why am I even asking? Of course you want a cookie.”

Grabbing a container off of his desk, Mr Stark held out a chocolate chip cookie to Peter, who accepted it with tentative, shaking hands. He was starving. 

Instead of taking a seat at his desk, the man once again sat down on the floor across from his student. It was an odd sight, to say the least, to see a forty-year-old man in a suit cross-legged like a child on the faded linoleum. 

“So, what are your hobbies, kid?”

_ He’s trying to distract you.  _

Peter paused, fiddling with the cookie in his hands.

“I like photography and building stuff,” he mumbled. 

Mr Stark nodded, a small smile on his expression. “Engineering, you and I have that in common. Built anything cool?”

Peter's eyes shone for a brief moment, somewhat escaping his less than positive thoughts. “Ned and I built a robot last year. It was awesome.”

The corners of Mr Stark’s mouth turned upward, cheeks creasing with smile lines. “Sounds pretty advanced. You know, I’m running an after-school robotics club on Tuesdays if you want to check it out.”

Peter shrugged his shoulders, suddenly very self-conscious. 

_ Take a bullet like your uncle did.  _

_ Why don’t you do the world a favor and take a fucking bullet like your uncle did? _

Mr Stark continued, nibbling on his own cookie. “Wanna know something cool about my day?”

Peter sniffled, lost in his thoughts. Mr Stark continued anyway. 

“So, I sat down at my desk to read all of the papers you kids gave me in homeroom. After reading about ten ‘my favourite colours’, when I was seriously beginning to doubt all my life choices that led to teaching high schoolers, I read this,” Mr Stark said as he pulled out a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket. 

Peter instantly recognised the meme he’d drawn that morning. 

A quiet, short laugh bubbled out of his chest. 

“Best damn thing I’ve seen all day, Peter. I want it framed for my office.” 

“Glad you liked it,” Peter almost-whispered, his voice cracking on the last word. 

“You know, there’s nothing wrong with asking for help, Peter. My door is always open, like I said this morning.”

Peter’s face was wet again. 

_ Stop crying. Stop it. Stop! _

“You’re like, the only cool teacher here,” Peter admitted, voice wavering. 

Mr Stark sighed. “I know, it’s exhausting having all the cool placed on my shoulders, but I’m used to it, I guess.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a few passing moments, Mr Stark watching Peter closely as he fumbled with the half-eaten cookie in his hands. Peter contemplated his next few words. 

“My uncle died this summer.” 

_ Why would you say that? Stop talking. You just want pity.  _

_ Pathetic.  _

Mr Stark’s brows pulled together, a sympathetic expression on his face. “I’m sorry that you’re going through that right now. Do you want to talk about it?”

Peter shook his head, vacantly staring out of the window. “Not really, I just miss him.” 

Mr Stark nodded understandingly and glanced down at his watch, wincing at the time. “Geez, lunch is almost over. And you didn’t even make your second cookie.” He gestured to the unfinished food in Peter’s hand, sounding almost disappointed. 

Peter wiped at his eyes again. He knew he looked like an absolute mess. 

“You’ve got me for your last two classes. We won’t be doing much, so if you aren’t up to it, you can go hide out in my office. It’s got a cool couch and everything,” Mr Stark offered, gesturing to the door toward the back of the room. 

_ Don’t trust him.  _

_ You can’t trust anyone.  _

“Really?”

He nodded and leaned over, whispering conspiratorially, “I promise I won’t even tell the teacher. I’ll cover for you.” 

_ Why is he being so nice? You don’t deserve it. He just pities you, he doesn’t care.  _

“Thanks, Mr Stark.” 

The older man waved him off, “No problem, kid.” 

__________

The couch was comfortable. Peter put his earphones in and slept. 

__________

Someone was shaking him. 

They pulled out his earphones. 

“Hey, Peter, class is over, time to go home.”

It was Mr Stark. 

Peter quietly thanked the teacher and moved to leave. 

“Hey Peter?”

He stopped. 

“Try to catch a few more Z’s tonight, okay.”

“Okay.”

  
  


__________

Peter swung the door of the apartment open, fiddling to get the key out of the lock. May was on the couch donning her favourite sweatpants, watching some 90’s sitcom on the television. 

The familiar scent of lasagne wafted through the apartment as Peter set his bag down. 

_ Ben’s favourite.  _

He sat down next to her, folding his knees on the cushion. She picked up the remote, muting the show. May looked so tired, so utterly exhausted, but she managed a smile for him. 

“How was your first day?” 

Peter leaned into her side, breathing in her perfume deeply. It was a comforting scent. 

“It was alright,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders. It was something he’d found himself doing a lot recently.

She sighed, pulling him into her side. “You don’t have to lie to me, Peter.”

He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her. “I really needed Ben today.”

May’s eyes softened. “Rough day too?”

“Yeah,” Peter whispered, his voice breaking.

He buried his face into her shoulder, letting out an uncertain, shaky sob. 

“Oh, baby.” 

She stroked his back and fiddled her fingers aimlessly through his hair. 

“I wish Ben was here,” he cried out, body trembling. 

_ I just want Ben.  _

_ You don’t deserve to have him.  _

“I know, I know. It’s gonna be alright, sweetheart”. 

She couldn’t stand to see Peter cry. It always made her emotional, and she was so, so tired. 

May let a few tears escape.

She needed Peter at that moment just as much as he needed her. 

So they held onto each other, broken and desperate and longing for the one person that they would never get to see. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


Peter was not looking forward to school the next day. 


	2. where are you now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's second day of freshman year turns out to suck. 
> 
> Like, really suck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi ya'll! Here's a new chapter for you, I've been writing furiously for the past day and half to get this angsty chap out as quick as possible (which is great when you have nothing else to do and little appreciation of sleep). Hope you guys enjoy :)))))

“What’s up, Parker?”

MJ leant against her locker, schedule in hand. She held an intimidating stance, clad in a guns ‘n’ roses t-shirt, jeans and combat boots, but Peter wasn’t mystified by any of it. 

“MJ! Finally, you’re back!” 

She quirked an eyebrow at Peter, rolling her eyes playfully. “I missed one day, but I’m glad to hear it felt like a lifetime.” 

She turned towards Ned, nodding at the boy. “Leeds, how’s it going?”

“Oh you know, same old, same old,” he grinned, glad the trio were finally back together. 

“So, shall we compare schedules?” MJ asked, holding hers out.

Peter looked over hers, sighing in relief as he saw that he had Homeroom, English, Gym and World History with her. The only class he had alone was Robotics, which he didn’t mind because that was taught by Mr Stark. 

“You’re going to love Mr Stark. He’s the coolest teacher I’ve ever had,” Ned stated, with Peter nodding along as they walked to homeroom. 

He didn’t mention what happened at lunch yesterday. 

Maybe it was because he could barely hold a conversation, or that he didn’t get any quality sleep the night before, or that nightmares of Skip kept him awake. 

It was most likely a combination of all three. 

He could still feel Skip’s hands all over him, in places where they should never have been. His skin was red raw from the shower this morning, still stinging to the touch where he’d scratched and scratched to feel clean. 

Peter didn’t talk much to either of them. He hoped they didn’t notice. 

Needless to say, Michelle was extremely impressed by Mr Stark in homeroom that morning. 

“Michelle, right? You got a nickname? Cause I’d rather not call you Shelly, brings back traumatic memories of my pet turtle.” 

She grinned slyly. “Call me MJ.” 

“Of Human Bondage?” Mr Stark questioned, gesturing to the paperback amongst her things.

MJ nodded. 

“Quite a compelling story about the nature of humans and society, without pushing all that hokey sentimental rubbish, don’t you think?”

MJ appeared unfazed and leant forward, elbow resting on her desk. “What’s your opinion on how the book ended?”

He didn’t even hesitate. “Both satisfying and unsatisfying at the same time. But I think it was because I saw so much of myself in Philip.”

MJ smirked, pleased with his answer. 

“Mr Stark, I believe this is the beginning of something monumental.” 

“Is that so?”

Ned decided to cut in. “Mr Stark, she doesn’t like just anyone,” he emphasised, tone serious. 

“Take this with great honor.” 

The teacher chuckled, “Well, I’m glad to have made the cut.” 

Peter watched all of this unfold, and was slightly unsettled. It had taken years for MJ to even acknowledge his presence in primary school. It was highly abnormal for her to like a teacher, even, and especially not on her first day. 

Mr Stark began the roll call and Peter found himself zoning out, his thoughts consumed with scenes of the last night’s nightmare. 

_ You’re a good boy, Peter, So good. _

_ Stop crying, Peter. Aren’t you my friend? _

_ Peter, put your hands a little- _

MJ nudged him gently and looked over to Mr Stark. The man frowned with concern at Peter’s lack of attention. 

“Just checking attendance, Peter. Clearly, you’re here.” 

A few students chuckled lazily. 

Peter dropped his head into his hands, wishing he could just go home. He felt his friend’s concerned stares on the back of his head and could hear Flash snickering behind him. 

Peter ignored it. 

The bell rung, signally their first class, but before Peter could leave, Mr Stark asked him to stay behind. 

“I’ll meet you in English,” MJ said as she walked past. 

The room cleared out, and Mr Stark took a seat at his desk, shuffling some papers. 

“How ya doing, Pete?” 

Pete - that was new. But Peter remembered that Mr Stark liked nicknames. 

“I’m fine,” he lied, fiddling with the strings on his hoodie. 

Peter suspected that Mr Stark didn’t buy it for a moment, but decided to take a different route. 

“I don’t think you are. I want you to come to robotics club tonight, I think you would really enjoy it. Have you got any plans?”

“Yes,” he lied again. Peter wasn’t even sure why. 

_ Pathetic, Parker. He can see right through you.  _

Mr Stark looked a little disappointed, almost offended? Peter couldn’t quite place the expression.

“I promised my aunt I’d walk our dog before it gets dark out.” 

More lies. They didn’t even have a dog. 

“Maybe next week?” Mr Stark asked, crossing his knees one over the other. 

“Maybe.” 

Peter wanted to go, so very badly. Robotics with his favourite teacher? Awesome. 

But he couldn’t, because Skip was there, inside Peter’s head, and Peter needed another shower, and Ben was gone.

_ Gone. _

Peter walked out before Mr Stark could get another word in. 

_________

Peter zoned in and out of his classes all day. He pretended not to notice MJ and Ned’s growing concern, answering their questions with ‘I’m fine’ or ‘I’m just tired’. They understood, having been there for Peter through the break, at the funeral and on the phone when he just needed to talk, be silent or have someone there at three in the morning. 

But they didn’t know that the stress of Ben’s death had caused memories of Skip to resurface. They didn’t even know about Skip. No one did. 

They grew puzzled. Maybe Ben’s death had all of a sudden hit Peter, hard, because he seemed even worse than during the summer. 

“I’m worried about Peter,” Ned whispered to MJ in Gym. They were still waiting for Peter to come out of the changerooms.

“No shit, Leeds.” 

MJ’s face softened as Ned frowned. “I don’t know what to do… he seems so distant today like he’s not even in his own head or something. He was barely paying attention in class earlier… just...” 

“I don’t think there’s much we can do, except be there for him, it’s not like we can bring his uncle back,” Ned sighed, seemingly pained by his friend’s struggle. 

“We keep Peter busy, take notes for him if he isn’t up to it, invite him places, study together, that kind of thing,” MJ suggested, tying up her joggers. 

Ned nodded, but the conversation ended when Peter trailed out of the locker room to join them. 

“So, what do you think of this Mr Wilson guy?” 

Peter shrugged. “I dunno, seems alright.” 

For Ned, that was the first red flag. He’d been in their Gym class the day before and they’d simultaneously agreed that Mr Wilson was their least favourite teacher, because he made them complete a two-mile run to test their abilities. 

Ned decided to keep an extra close eye on Peter for the rest of the day. 

________

  
  


“Alright, who here wants to do a pretest?” 

No one raised their hand. Little surprise there. 

It was the last period of the day. No one felt like doing a physics pretest. 

Mr Stark chuckled, clapping his hands together. “That’s what I thought. What I want you to do is think of a creative way to demonstrate your abilities in robotics, so I can understand where you're at. If you’re a complete novice, draw me a nice pretty picture of a robot or something. Then, we’ll move on to the course content. You have two classes, but then we gotta move on. Capiche?”

A few confused nods were all he got in response. 

“Don’t read too much into it. Just show me what you got. Use anything in the lab or tech room. It’s not being marked or anything, you’ll just get some feedback.” 

Murmurs broke out across the room, but Peter stayed silent. There were too many ideas zooming around in his head, and all the while he was trying to comprehend how cool Mr Stark was for letting them do this. 

Peter messed around with his sketch-book, finally settling on one idea that seemed plausible if he could sort out the technicalities. He wanted to design an exoskeleton glove that would enhance the movement of the human palm and decrease motor difficulty for those with disabilities. A little ambitious, but Peter would be damned if he didn’t make the best project. 

Peter pulled out some drafting paper and started planning and designing. If he put in some extra work at home, he would be able to finish the design by the night and start working on a prototype the next day. 

He tried to ignore that sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, focusing energy and thoughts on the project. 

Ever since the incident at lunch yesterday, Peter’s senses were on edge.

He hadn’t seen Flash at lunch today, but that didn’t mean the teen had suddenly developed an aversion to bullying. If Peter had another breakdown in front of a teacher, or worse, in front of his peers, he’d never come to school again. 

The only refuge he had was Mr Stark’s classes, homeroom in the morning, and a double of Algebra and Robotics in the afternoon. He felt bad for lying to the teacher earlier, but the thought of participating and conversing with other students when he could be at home, swallowed by his comforter and doing absolutely nothing was more appealing.

Peter shook his head and set to work. Consumed in his design, Peter was startled by the bell signalling the end of the day. He looked down. The class was over and around half of his design was complete. Not bad at all. 

As the students rose to leave, Mr Stark called out, “Don’t forget about robotics club, starts at four if any of you want to join me instead of binging Netflix!”

That was when Peter started to feel guilty. Hardly any students even acknowledged what Mr Stark said, let alone looked interested. They just wanted to go home. 

Peter ducked his head as he walked past the man. He pretended not to notice the concern etched onto his teacher’s face. 

_______

Bag packed at the locker, Peter let out a resigned sigh. 

He couldn’t do that to Mr Stark, especially not after all the help he’d given Peter when they’d hardly known each other. 

He knew what he had to do. 

Peter’s feet led him to S3, where he knew Mr Stark would be.

The man was reading a thick, faded novel when he tapped gently on the door. Mr Stark pushed his glasses up from the edge of his nose and swivelled his chair towards Peter. 

“Dog wasn’t up to walking?” He asked, voice thick with sarcasm.

Peter dropped his bag on a nearby table. 

“I think we both know I don’t have a dog.”

Mr Stark let out a loose chuckle, “Well, gold star for the improvisation, I must say.”

“Sorry. I was a jerk.” 

Mr Stark shrugged. “It’s alright.”

Peter noted the otherwise empty room. 

“Where’s everyone else?”

“Guess I’m not as popular as I thought.”

That didn’t make sense. 

“It’s day two and you’re already everybody’s favourite teacher.” 

“It was a joke, club doesn’t start for another fifteen minutes. Although I’m very flattered you think that,” Mr Stark smirked, leaning back in his chair. 

“Do you mind if I wait here until it starts?” Peter asked, wishing more than anything that he’d ignored his moral compass and just gone home. 

“Pop a squat, kid.” 

Peter quickly got out his phone to text May. 

**Will be home late, at robotics club. Love you.**

Peter put his phone down, contemplating his choices even more. He was so, so tired. 

_ You don’t want to go home because Skip’s there, in your room, waiting.  _

_ You don’t want to go home because Ben’s not home. He’s six feet under, covered in dirt.  _

But Peter was nothing if not polite. 

“How was your day, Mr Stark?”

The man grinned enthusiastically. “Today, I had a junior in my maths class tell me to go shove it after I spotted a mistake in her working out. It was terrific.” 

The funny thing was, the teacher actually did look pleased with himself. 

“Why was it terrific?”

Mr Stark rose to wipe down the board. “I like it when my students are brutally honest. It builds my character.”

“Right.” 

Mr Stark grabbed a marker.

“I had a look at some of your past grades when I saw what you were working on in Robotics. Seems like you’re a regular Einstein.”

_ Einstein.  _

_ Hey, Einstein, turn around like a good boy and- _

Mr Stark turned back to write something on the board. He didn’t seem troubled by Peter’s silence. He was good at talking. 

“And how was your day, Peter?” 

_ Einstein, this is what friends do. Don’t you want to be my friend? _

“It was fine.” 

His voice trembled slightly. 

Peter’s eyelids slid shut.

_ You aren’t fine. You’re lying. _

Peter wasn’t in the room anymore. He was back in that dingy apartment, in Skip’s room. With the video game player, and Skip’s magazines and-

_ Because Skip is everywhere. And Ben is gone. And I’m all alone.  _

_ Shower. My skin is dirty. I need to go home and have a shower.  _

_ Get out of here, get out, get out! _

Peter’s breaths grew shorter. 

The chair screeched. 

Mr Stark turned around and saw a brief flash of the teen before he was off, running down the hallway as if his life depended on it. 

Mr Stark hastened out of the door into the corridor.

“Peter!”

The teacher’s voice echoed into the empty walkway. Peter was nowhere in sight. 

________

  
  


Peter ran from school grounds, ignoring Mr Stark’s shouts for him. He sped without stopping, feet aching, running toward what, he didn’t know. 

_ Peter, I love you so much, buddy.  _

_ They why’d you leave me? _

_ I had to go. _

_ Stay with me, Ben.  _

He was somewhere in Queens, a place that swirled with some blurred, hazy memory. 

Peter spotted a bodega across the street, the glow of its light penetrating the darkness. 

He’d been running a long time. 

A man and a little boy walked out, the bell on the door jingling softly. They were holding paper bags filled with a few groceries. 

Peter’s heart lurched. 

_ That was us, Uncle Ben.  _

_ And then I killed you.  _

_ It was all my fault.  _

He kept walking. 

His feet moved quickly, each step caressing the pavement, lingering only for a moment. Peter played close attention to the lines in the concrete. 

He knew who he needed to see. Peter recognised where he was now. 

The cemetery was just a few blocks over. 

Uncle Ben was just a few blocks over. 

_________

Peter found Ben’s headstone easily enough. The memory of the day he and May buried him was ingrained into his mind. 

There were no flowers, no candles, just a slate gray headstone that could never possibly express how much this man had done for Peter. 

**Benjamin Franklin Parker**

**Loving Husband and Uncle**

**1976 - 2016**

It was so… impersonal. 

Peter dropped to his knees, bag resting in the grass behind him. 

“Ben?” 

It came out like a whisper. It could have been the wind for how quiet and breathless it was. 

“I don’t know what to do ...I don’t know what to do,” Peter trembled, a soft, patient sob emerging from his chest. 

The tears stung his eyes. Peter’s throat tightened. He couldn’t utter another word. 

So Peter did something he never thought he’d do. 

He prayed. Not to some God or supernatural reality, but to the person he could really count on. If Ben had to leave this planet early, then there surely was no God. No God would ever have allowed this to happen. 

Not to Ben, who, of all people, had taken him in, and played with him in the mornings after long night shifts, and always put a sticky note into Peter’s lunch with some funny joke, and drove him around the city on Christmas Eve to see the lights. 

_ Ben, I don’t know what to do. _

_ I’m so lost.  _

_ I need to tell someone about Skip. But I can’t.  _

_ I wish you were here.  _

_ I’m sorry.  _

Peter curled up in the foetal position, forehead touching the springy, damp grass. 

He cried for a long, long time. 

Heavy sobs.

Small whimpers. 

Silent tears. 

They all blurred together. 

Peter’s cries quietened.

He fell asleep, an odd sight for anyone who might have peered past the cemetery gate. 

For Peter, it was perhaps the most peaceful sleep he’d had in weeks. 

  
  


__________

  
  


“Hey, kid, would ya get up? I’m tryna do my job here.”

Something was kicking him. 

Peter blinked his eyes open, rubbing at the raw skin. 

“I ain’t gonna have no homeless kids on these grounds, eh, so why don’t you skedaddle over to the shelter across the street, huh?”

A man, no older than thirty, with a thick New Yorker accent, was nudging Peter with his foot. 

Peter moved into a sitting position and squinted up at the man. “I’m not homeless, just visiting someone.” 

Peter thought some sort of expression flashed across the guy’s face. Sympathy? 

“Alright, well, make it quick then, I gotta blow off the leaves before nine.”

The man tottered off in the other direction, muttering something unintelligible under his breath. 

Peter pulled his phone out of his backpack, fingers numb and trembling. 

**27 Missed Calls (Aunt May)**

**9 Missed Calls (Ned Leeds)**

**8 Missed Calls (MJ)**

**5:31 PM**

**Aunt May: Where are you?**

**5:40 PM**

**Aunt May: School called to check up on you. One of your teachers said you ran out of robotics club?**

**5:41 PM**

**Aunt May: Hun, I’m not mad, just tell me where you are.**

**5:45 PM**

**Aunt May: Peter please pick up.**

**5:48 PM**

**Ned Leeds: where u at?**

**5:50 PM**

**MJ: Parker answer ur goddamn phone**

**5:51 PM**

**Aunt May: Peter where are you?**

**5:52 PM**

**Aunt May: Answer your phone.**

It was already past 8PM. Peter stopped scrolling through his notifications. He gathered the gist of them. 

Peter clicked on May’s contact, hovering his finger for only a moment. The connection went through almost instantly, as if she’d been standing over her phone. 

“Peter? Oh my god, Peter, where are you? Sweetie, are you okay?”

May was frazzled and upset. Peter struggled to swallow the guilt of what he’d done. 

“Can you come get me, please?” Peter’s voice was timid and quiet. 

“Where are you, honey?”

“Cemetery.” 

May stilled for a second. “Oh.” 

She breathed in heavily. 

“Oh.” 

Peter could almost hear May nodding to herself, trying to piece together what had happened. She was like that. 

“Can you bring me a jacket? It’s pretty cold out,” he mumbled, almost incoherent. 

“Yeah, sweetie, I’ll be there as soon as I can. Just stay where you are.” Her relief was tangible even over the phone. 

“Okay.”

He hung up. 

The phone slipped out of his grip into the grass. 

________

  
  


May was by his side in less than twenty minutes. They were the longest twenty minutes of his life.

“Peter?”

The teen turned toward the voice. She looked dishevelled, frazzled. 

They were supposed to go out for Thai that night. 

They locked eyes and his face crumpled. 

She didn’t hesitate to gather him in her arms. 

“It’s alright. You’re okay. We’re gonna figure this all out.”

He hugged her even tighter. 

“Oh, baby, please don’t do that again.”

May was safe. May was home. May was patchouli oil and daisies and burnt Italian food. She was warm hugs and forehead kisses. He was an idiot. He didn’t deserve her. 

“I’m sorry.” 

He truly meant it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? Please leave a comment down below, they are my absolute favourite emails to get at 2am in the morning!!


	3. sorry is the hardest word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few weeks pass...
> 
> Peter tries to cope whilst remembering the summer of 2011...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, I just want to let you know that this chapter is going to deal with a significant amount of trauma and Peter's experience of Skip. Please know, I do not, and will never, condone or glamourise sexual abuse, and if you feel triggered by the content in the chapter, please use one of the resources left below and stay safe! 
> 
> https://www.nhs.uk/live-well/sexual-health/help-after-rape-and-sexual-assault/ (UK)  
> https://au.reachout.com/articles/sexual-assault-support (AUS)  
> https://www.rainn.org/national-resources-sexual-assault-survivors-and-their-loved-ones (USA and WorldWide)

It was the summer of 2011. May and Ben had to pick up more shifts as their rent rose, so they decided to hire a babysitter for Peter. After searching and searching, they finally found one they could afford, an eighteen-year-old high school student looking to make a couple extra bucks before starting college to work in education. He sounded perfect.

Peter was nine years old when he met Skip. 

__________

Peter hadn’t gone to school the Wednesday after he’d run out of robotics club. 

He told May he had a headache and stayed in bed all day, drifting in and out of fitful sleep with horrid fever dreams. Peter suspected May knew he didn’t have a headache, and that she was sympathetic after the previous night. 

Honestly, May was a godsend. 

When Peter returned on Thursday, Mr Stark pulled him aside in between Algebra and Robotics to ask what happened that afternoon.

Mr Stark seemed worried about Peter’s behaviour, clearly concerned for his student’s mental health. 

Peter lied. 

“I remembered that I was supposed to meet my aunt at the cemetery after school, and I just kinda freaked out.” 

Mr Stark, poised on the edge of his desk, let out a long, troubled sigh. 

“You don’t have to lie to me, Peter. I’m not mad, I’m not gonna give you a detention. I’m here as someone who is concerned for your wellbeing.”

Peter ducked his head, suddenly very interested in his hands. He wished that Mr Stark would just stop caring. It would make everything a whole lot easier. 

“I’m fine.”

Mr Stark crossed his arms, stone-faced but earnest. 

“That’s not what I asked.” 

“You talked to my aunt on the phone, didn’t you?”

The teacher nodded unashamedly, “I had to check if you were okay. And then I got really worried when she said you never went home, never texted her, zip, zoop, nada.”

_ You’re a terrible nephew.  _

_ She’s not even related to you. She should have dumped you on the street years ago.  _

“I made a mistake. I didn’t mean to worry her.”

Mr Stark kept on, determined to avoid an impasse.

“You wanna know how I spent my night on Tuesday?’

Peter made no movement to suggest he did.

“Driving around Queens hoping I’d bump into a certain student of mine who ran out of school and nearly gave his aunt a heart attack.” 

Peter looked up sharply. “You went looking for me?”

“Yes, Pete, because I care. I know you and I haven’t known each other for very long but I made a promise at the start of the week that my door was always open.”

Peter remained quiet. 

The man rubbed at his eyes tiredly, “Kid, I’m on your side. As your teacher, I’m telling ya, I only want the best for you.” 

_ He wouldn’t want the best for you if he knew.  _

_ People will treat you differently if you tell.  _

“I’m sorry, Mr Stark.”

The man gave a brief smile, massaging the bridge of his nose. 

“What can I do to make this easier for you?” 

Peter was silent. 

_ You could tell him, right now.  _

_ But you won’t.  _

_ Coward.  _

_ I’m not a coward.  _

“Don’t call me Einstein,” he mumbled under his breath. 

“Pardon me?”

“Don’t call me Einstein, please,” Peter repeated louder.

Mr Stark appeared confused but nonetheless agreed. 

“Alright, I can do that.” 

__________

  
  


Skip kneeled down at eye level with the boy, “Nice to meet ya, Peter,” 

He eyed the teen warily. 

“I don’t need a babysitter. I’m a big boy,” Peter declared, hands on his hips. 

Skip laughed, his shoulder-length hair vibrating with the movement. “Oh, I know, I can tell. Why don’t we just be friends?” 

Skip offered an outstretched hand as if offering a deal.

Peter scrunched up his button nose in thought. 

Then he grinned and shook Skip’s hand. 

__________

  
  


A few weeks passed. 

May started looking into therapists she couldn’t afford. 

Peter insisted he was fine, so she wouldn’t worry. 

He slept less, so he wouldn’t wake her with nightmares. He clamped down his jaw on a pillow to swallow down panic attacks (it never worked). He focused on his classes, most of the time. He talked to his friends, tried to smile and participate. 

_ Maybe, if I pretend for long enough, it might feel real?  _

May didn’t buy it.

Neither did Mr Stark. 

“Just, come to robotics club, I think it’ll do some good for you. Get you outta your head a little,” Mr Stark insisted, for what felt like the fiftieth time. 

“Maybe,” Peter answered, eyes focused only on the equations in front of him.

“I’m starting to think that when you say maybe, it actually means no.”

Peter was starting to get fed-up. 

“Did you ever think that I just don’t want to go? Maybe I have better things to do.”

Mr Stark waved his hands dramatically, “See, there you go with those maybe’s again! Kid, I swear, if you come to one meeting, and you hate it, I will never ask you to come ever again. Deal?”

The teacher extended his hand. 

Peter shrugged, ignoring the gesture, a small smile building across his cheeks.

“Maybe.”

Mr Stark groaned, “You’ll be the death of me, kid.”

__________

  
  


“Hey, Pete, you wanna play a video game with me? I’ve got a bunch for us to play,” Skip enticed, holding up a few DVD cases in his hand. 

“Yeah, I just wanna finish this worksheet first,” Peter answered, nose crinkled at the maths equation he was trying to figure out. 

Skip moved over to the dining table, leaning over Peter’s work. 

He paused, skimming over the sheet. “Why are you doing maths in the summer, bud?” 

Skip read the title: Algebraic Equations. 

His eyes widened, “Wow, this is some hard stuff, guess you're just a regular Einstein, aren’t you, scamp?” 

Peter giggled as Skip ruffled his hair. 

__________

  
  


“Well, how much is it per session?” She was desperate.

A pause. 

“I understand that, but we have an allowance from the government that-”

“You don’t take that. Of course,” she sighed, admitting defeat. 

May ran her hands through her hair, biting down on her lip. 

“Okay, thank you for your time. Goodbye.”

She slammed down the phone in anger, tears of frustration brimming in her eyes. 

Taking in a deep breath, May picked up the phone with resolve, dialling the next number.

__________

  
  


Peter was at Skip’s house today. He and his mom shared a dingy apartment, with carpet frayed at the edges and cigarette butts on the windowsills. 

Peter didn’t mind. He didn’t really even notice. 

They were sat on a playmat, building lego towers. Peter had just put the final block on his and beamed over at Skip in triumph. 

“That’s great, scamp.” 

Peter beamed underneath Skip’s praise. 

“What are we gonna do now?”

Skip smiled a wide, Cheshire cat smile, one that was sinister in all its intentions.

If Peter had been older, he would have known that this was a sadistic kind of smile, not a friendly one. 

He would have known to run out of the apartment as fast as his wobbly little legs would take him and scream bloody murder. 

In only one second, Skip had become the predator, and Peter had become the prey. 

“Well, I was thinking, if you wanted to, we could play a game that’s meant for grown-ups. You say that you’re a big boy, and that maths over there is pretty grown-up stuff, so I’d say that you’re ready.” 

Peter’s eyes brightened and he nodded his head frantically. 

Skip let out a booming laugh at the kid’s excitement. 

“Alright, but there are some rules you have to follow to play the game,” Skip whispered conspiratorially. 

Peter felt like he was being let in on some big secret. He leant forward, eager to hear. 

“Number one is that you aren’t allowed to tell anyone. It’s like a secret only we get to know about. Number two is that only big boys can play it, so you have to be pretty special to play, okay?”

Peter cocked his head to the side, wondering what on earth this game could be. The possibilities were endless. 

“Okay,” he agreed, enthusiasm building. 

“Well, I think we should play in my room, don’t you?”

Peter nodded, darting across the apartment to the teen’s bedroom door. 

__________

  
  


Mr Stark clapped him on the back, glancing down at his design. 

“This is great work, Peter, keep it up.” 

Peter smiled his first real smile for that day. 

“Actually, Mr Stark, I’m having a little problem with the placement of the wiring, could you give me a hand?”

“Sure, let me take a closer look…”

The man scanned the page intently and pointed out a mistake just moments later. 

“If you move this over here, it’ll work.” 

Peter huffed, “Of course, thank you.” 

“No problem, kid. Now, in return, you have to come to Robotics club tonight, hmm?”

Peter shook his head, smiling, “Nice try, Mr Stark.”

__________

  
  


Something about Skip’s magazines didn’t seem right to Peter. They didn’t look like the ones from the supermarket May would always flick through at the checkout. 

The teen perused through the pages, showing different pictures to the boy that unsettled his stomach. 

“This is how grown-ups play?” Peter asked, frowning at the magazine. 

Skip nodded, pointing out another picture, “Yeah, scamp.”

“I don’t want to play like this. Can’t we go play with legos?” 

Peter’s voice was shaky, suddenly apprehensive. 

Skip patted him on the shoulder consolingly. “Peter, this is what friends do. Aren’t we friends?” 

Peter didn’t know what to say. 

Skip was his friend. He was the only friend Peter had. 

He didn’t want to play the game, but if that’s what friends did ... then…

Peter shook his head, “Yeah, but can’t we do something else? I promise we’ll still be friends if we just play legos.”

Skip pursed his lips. “Peter, do you know what the word compromise means?”

Peter shook his head again. 

Skip smiled in a friendly manner, “Compromise is when two friends make an agreement to do one thing that one likes, and one thing that the other likes.”

Peter was still a little confused but didn’t want to admit he didn’t understand the concept.

“Oh.”

Skip continued, lifting Peter onto his lap like he’d done a hundred times before.

“Since we already played legos, we have to do something that I like, okay?”

__________

  
  


“What do you think of Mr Harrington so far?” MJ asked, nibbling on her salad sandwich. 

Ned chuckled over his tray of food, “He’s the biggest roller coaster of a person I’ve ever met. Like, he’s a good teacher, but yesterday when I asked for help, he ended up talking about his wife’s dead dog. The dude is completely random.”

“Peter?”

He glanced up from his textbook. 

“Oh, he seems cool, I guess. Kinda odd but he keeps things interesting.” 

MJ took a swig of her soda. “I was thinking about joining the decathlon team, he runs it. Maybe you guys would do it too?”

Ned perked up, happy to be included, “Sure!”

MJ raised her eyebrow at Peter expectantly. 

“Maybe.” 

__________

  
  


“We have to touch each other like the people in the picture, that’s how you play the game,” Skip insisted. 

“I don’t like this game,” Peter whimpered. 

Skip gave the boy a reassuring smile, “Aww, come on Einstein, doesn’t that feel good?”

Peter shook his head, eyes brimming with tears. 

“C’mon, It’s my turn now,” Skip explained as he unbuttoned his jeans, shuffling them over his knees.

Peter was openly crying now, his small face flustered, frustrated, but most of all, scared. 

He edged his way to the door, back to the wall. 

Skip grabbed onto Peter’s hand, squeezing hard enough to make the boy cry out. 

__________

  
  


Peter finally decided to admit defeat. At this point, he was only denying his teacher’s pleas out of pure spite and enjoyment rather than disinterest in the club. 

Mr Stark looked like the happiest man in the world when Peter walked into S3, which confused him a little, but Mr Stark was kind of strange. 

That was, he was strange in a good way. He wasn’t like the other teachers. Mr Stark was energetic in the way he taught, never afraid to explain a concept one hundred times. He took time to get to know every student as a person, and always made sure that his students knew he cared. So, maybe it did actually make some sense that the teacher jumped up buoyantly, suddenly full of life. 

“Peter! Finally, I triumph! Nothing can stop me now!” 

Peter laughed uncertainly at the man’s display. 

Mr Stark clapped his student on the back, looking more sincere than ever, “No, really, I’m glad to see you here, bud.”

A few other students were milling around, fiddling with spare parts on tables that were pushed together. 

“What are you guys doing?” 

Mr Stark picked up and twirled around a controller in his hands, “We’re taking apart some old junk I found in the back room. Jump in, get your hands dirty!” 

He hesitantly sat down at the nearest table.

__________

  
  


_ (Skip muffled Peter’s cries, pressing his hand over Peter’s mouth. _

_ “Shhh, Shhh. This is what friends do, Peter.” _

_ Skip moaned. Peter’s eyes darted, cries becoming louder.  _

_ He begged and begged. He screamed.  _

  
  
  


_ Peter passed out.) _

_ __________ _

Peter found that the Robotics club was a good distraction. He could clear his mind of everything else going on and just be in the moment. It was just him, scrap metal, wires and a design begging to be drawn. 

Mr Stark grinned madly for the entire hour. 

__________

He woke up, fully dressed. Disoriented, Peter searched for his glasses, rubbing at his eyes to dispel the blurry picture. 

Skip was sitting next to him, dipping into the other end of the mattress. 

Peter wanted to cry. He was confused and didn’t understand. 

Skip gathered the boy into his arms, embracing Peter tightly. 

Peter froze. 

“I’m sorry you didn’t like the game, scamp, I promise it gets better each time you play it. You were really brave, playing a grown-up game like that.”

Peter thought that if that is what adults did, he didn’t want any part of it. He would stay little forever. 

“I don’t want to play that game again,” he whispered into Skip’s shoulder. 

“Next time will be much better, scamp, don’t you worry. You’re such a good friend, Peter.”

_ Next time? _

_ Maybe, this is what you have to do to keep friends? _

__________

MJ, Peter and Ned were sat on Ned’s couch, intently watching Black Mirror on Netflix. 

As the credits rolled out, Peter stretched his arms and gave a loud yawn.

“I hate this show, it’s making me think too much.”

MJ scoffed, “Dude, did you really just say that?”

“Hey, I love consecutive existential crisis’ as much as the next guy, but right now, I just wanna veg out, y’know?”

“Well, what would you suggest then?”

Peter and Ned met eyes in a perfect moment of synchronicity.

“Nine-Nine!” They shouted in unison.

“Hmm, acceptable choice, but only if you promise not to do that, ever again, I don’t feel like vomiting tonight.” 

Ned stuck his tongue out, but MJ just rolled her eyes and picked up the remote. 

__________

They played that game once or twice a week for the whole summer. 

Peter swore it never got easier as Skip had promised. Each time was worse than the last.

It became routine, but each violation, each horrid act, left Peter more broken.

After a while, Peter shattered. 

He learned to disassociate, to separate his mind from what was happening in the present. Peter’s eyes would glaze over, empty and void, and he would pretend he was at school or doing some other mundane thing to ignore the stabs of pain that screamed from his abdomen. 

Skip would have his way, and Peter would wake up, dressed and clean, awaiting Skip’s apologetic embrace. It always sounded like Skip was really sorry that Peter didn’t enjoy it. 

Peter sometimes wondered if it would be easier to be dead.

When May and Ben asked what was wrong, why he smiled less, why he was a shell of the bright, happy little boy they knew, Peter just said, “I miss Mom and Dad”.

They would understand and comfort him, and all the while, Peter wished he didn’t have to clench his teeth to keep the truth from escaping. He wished this game didn’t have to be a secret.

He wished Skip would be his friend without hurting him. 

__________

Peter screamed into his pillow, holding it tightly over his mouth to muffle the noise. 

He pulled away, the only remnant of his outburst a wet ring of saliva on the blue fabric. 

He’d woken up from one of those awful dreams when Skip would tear apart his soul, piece by piece, pretending that this was normal and natural rather than twisted, sick behaviour, hugging and comforting Peter’s tears after the fact. 

Peter wanted to vomit, but there was nothing in his stomach, he’d barely touched dinner. May was on the night shift, so she didn’t know that he skipped the meal.

If things had been normal, Peter might have gone to knock on her bedroom door, because Ben would be there, waiting for his nephew with open arms to brush away the tears and figure out the problem. 

But Ben wasn’t there. Peter was so, so alone. 

He settled on completing some homework, knowing there would be no sleep for the rest of the night. 

After an hour on English, analysing perhaps the most confusing Shakespeare passage ever written, Peter pulled out his maths workbook for Mr Stark’s algebra class. 

He completed the required homework quickly, and then had a go at some of the more advanced equations Mr Stark had handed to him in passing to ‘have a look at’. 

These were more difficult, and Peter began to get more frustrated. Looking at the clock, which read 4:29 AM, he decided he might as well shoot Mr Stark an email which he might answer before school started. 

**To:** **tstark@midtowntech.edu.au**

**Subject: Algebra Homework**

**Hi Mr Stark,**

**A little confused on question nine of the advanced handout you gave me, are you able to explain where I have gone wrong in the attachment below?**

**Kind Regards,**

**Peter Parker**

Peter was surprised to hear a ping from his phone just three minutes later. 

**To:** **parkerp@midtowntech.edu.au**

**Re: Algebra Homework**

**Excuse me, young man, why are you up this late/early?**

**Whilst I’m here, I suppose I could help….**

**I have attached working out below, but please, go to bed! I mean it!**

**Mr Stark**

Peter skimmed over the sheet, the answer making a lot more sense once he adjusted a few signs, and sent a quick email back.

**To:** **tstark@midtowntech.edu.au**

**Re: Algebra Homework**

**Thank you, makes much more sense now :)**

**I’m an early riser, and I could ask the same for you, Mr Stark.**

**Kind regards,**

**Peter Parker**

__________

Skip moved away at the end of the summer. He was going to Penn State to get his degree in some form of Education. 

“It’s sad you and Skip won’t be able to hang out anymore, isn’t it hun’?”

Peter didn’t think that at all.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, gaze intently analysing the rug’s patterns on the floor.

May caressed his cheek, offering her nephew a smile.

“I’m sure if you want to call him anytime Skip would love to talk to you.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Peter said, non-committedly. 

_ Yeah, maybe not.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave a review below with any suggestion or comments :)


	4. sometimes, the storm comes before the calm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter tries to be normal, but after a new teacher comes to the school, he's not sure if he can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Finally, I have a chapter for you all. Sorry it's taken so long, I swear I've deleted and rewritten so many versions of this that between school and work, I wasn't sure I could get it done, but alas, it is here! Enjoy :)
> 
> Please be aware of trigger warnings for reference to sexual abuse. Stay safe.

Peter had done something stupid. Horribly, irrevocably, incredibly stupid. 

He’d just blurted it out, in the middle of lunch. Peter didn’t like to admit he’d been mulling the question over and over in his head, knowing that he would never have the guts to say out loud.

That is, until he did.

And now he was going on a date with Michelle Jones. MJ. One of his best friends. 

_ She’s probably going out with you in pity. It’s a pity date Parker. That’s all it is, and you’re going to ruin everything.  _

Hands fidgeting, Peter dialed May’s number, praying that she was on her break.

“Hey, hun’, what’s-”

“May, I need your help! I did something really stupid and I don’t know how to get out of it!”

There was a brief pause until May whispered back, semi-seriously, “You didn’t join a cult, did you?”

Peter fought the urge to giggle, tension bubbling out of his shoulders. His aunt had a way of doing that. 

“No, but you might as well sign my life away because I’ve ruined it.” 

The dramatics aside, Peter was about to mentally breakdown. 

“Well, why don’t you tell me what’s so horrible and we’ll see if we can negotiate those terms, huh?”

Peter’s tongue rolled around in his mouth, searching for the right words. 

“I, uh, oh my god it’s too embarrassing, you know what, I’m gonna-”

May snorted, amused by her nephew’s antics, “C’mon, tell me! You can’t leave me hanging, not when I won’t see you till after my shift.”

“Promise you won’t laugh?”

“Promise.”

Peter clenched his eyes shut rubbing his neck almost unconsciously. 

“May, I asked MJ out. On a date. Tonight. And she said yes.”

May didn’t reply. 

“You’re right, it’s so stupid you don’t even know what to say!”

She was quick to interrupt, “No! Honey, this is great! This is good. MJ’s great, you’re great, you make a cute couple.” Her relief was palpable. 

“But we’re gonna ruin the group dynamic if it goes sideways, and I don’t think she even likes me back, and Ned’s just gonna feel left out, and I’ve never been on a date before, what am I gonna wear?”

“You’re rambling.”

Peter huffed, frowning, “No, I’m not.”

“Sweetheart, everything’s going to be fine. You are both mature enough to be friends even if it doesn’t work out, and I know that Ned will support you and be your biggest cheerleader. You just gotta be chill, kiddo. And you have plenty of dress shirts, wear one of those.”

“This date is gonna kill me,” he tried weakly, searching for some sympathy. 

He could practically hear May smiling over the phone. 

“Hun’, I have to go, have fun, stay safe, text me, you’ll do great. MJ knows you, and she likes you. No stress.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Peter pressed the end call button, placing the phone down on the dresser. Looking into the mirror, taking in his messy curls and eye bags and all the things that he hated, Peter thought about all the ways he could get out of it. 

But, there was something. Some small voice shouting that this is what he wanted. That when he looked at MJ, everything would fall into place. 

And Peter wasn’t thinking about Skip or Ben. 

He was just thinking of her. 

“Am I doing this? Oh my god, I’m doing this.”

__________

  
  


“Hey.”

MJ smiled, shifting nervously in her floral dress. Her dark curls were tied back loosely, and Peter felt butterflies shift in his stomach like he always did when they were together. Usually, he put it down to coincidental indigestion, but now, Peter could admit, he was head-over-heels. 

“Hey yourself.”

Peter combed his hair back self-consciously, fingers aimlessly trying to tame the curls. 

“You look beautiful… not that you don’t always look beautiful, it’s just that, I -uh, why would I say you’re beautiful in class that would be entirely inappropriate, you know, what even-”

MJ placed her hand over his mouth, her lips tilting upward at the corner. 

“Thanks, Peter.”

He couldn’t help but blush. 

“You look beautiful too, I mean, isn’t it funny that we always say handsome for a guy? And look at you in a dress shirt! Although, the nerdy t-shirts can be entertaining.”

Peter chuckled nervously, still thinking about the place where her hand had been. 

“So, pizza?” She suggested, feeling more confident than Peter. 

He nodded vigorously, “Let’s go.” 

So, they walked together, with nervous side glances, fingers brushing ever-so-slightly but never holding on. 

Peter felt like the luckiest guy in the world.

_ I wonder when you’ll ruin it all. _

He opened the door for her when they got to Vino’s Pizzeria, bells clanging against the glass, and she couldn’t help but smirk.

“Chivalry. Nice.”

“Well, you know Italian aunts, they teach you young.”

They took opposite seats at the booth, MJ immediately grabbing a menu.

“Why do you even bother looking? You pick the same thing every time,” Peter questioned, grinning. 

“I have to see all of my options. Then I know I’m getting the best thing.”

“Like we haven’t been here a million times before. And like you would ever get anything other than the vegetarian extra chilli.”

She quirked her eyebrow, a playful smile on her features, “Are you attacking my taste, Parker? Because I’ll have you know that you won’t find many allies in ham and pineapple, especially not me.” 

“Hawaiian is the superior pizza. I’m just telling you the truth,” Peter beamed, fondly glancing at the way MJ’s nose crinkled slightly when she laughed.

“Says the man defending the pizza that was created in Canada, not Hawaii.”

“What? How do you even know that?”

“I like to know weird stuff.”

And Peter realised this was good. This was easy. MJ was comfort, they were friends. Peter wondered why he ever thought it would be awkward. It was just them. Like it always was. 

“If I try your pizza, and it’s better than mine, I will gladly bow down to the glorious vegetarian extra chilli. How about that?”

“Prepare to have your mind blown, Parker. In fact, I’ll probably have to stop you from eating the whole thing.”

__________

“Admit it.”

“Never.”

MJ bounced in her seat, “It’s good, it’s the best pizza you’ve ever eaten, c’mon, fess up!”

Peter adamantly shook his head, “Nope.”

She shrugged, “Well if you want your life to be a lie, that’s your choice.”

Peter licked his lips, “Well I can’t argue with that guilt trip… Okay, it was pretty good.”

“Vindication!” 

“Oh, so now you’re quoting Brooklyn Nine-Nine?”

She smiled, kicking at his feet playfully, “Yep. So, wanna get out of here? The Queens Night Market’s on tonight. Maybe we could sneak in…?”

“With a ringing endorsement like that, how could I say no?”

___________

MJ was the one to take his hand. Peter gave it a light squeeze, and they walked like nothing was different. Peter thought about how he’d been so clouded in grief he could barely see her, right in front of him. And then, when he did realise, it hit, suddenly and unexpectedly. 

Even Mr. Stark noticed. 

_ “So, you and MJ, huh?” _

_ Peter sharply looked up, “What? No, no, Mr. Stark, we’re just friends.” _

_ The teacher looked caught between apologetic and amused.  _

_ “My bad, just thought, with you two so… nevermind.” _

But now, they were together, holding hands, walking to the Night Market and everything felt perfect. 

“Do you ever feel like you’re floating?” MJ wondered aloud.

“Uh, I don’t know, Describe it to me.”

She pursed her lips in thought. 

“Like, everything just feels so right and unreal, but the whole time you’re thinking that in the morning things will suck again.”

He nodded, “All the time.”

She stopped and turned towards him.

“Peter, I really like you.”

“I really like you too,” he admitted. 

“I don’t want things to suck in the morning. And I don’t know what you want, but this is nice. This is the best I’ve felt in a while…”

Her eyes were locked on his. Peter felt his heart shudder. And then her face was moving towards his, and something magnetic was telling him to do the same. 

Soon, their lips met, and gently, Peter drew his hand into her hair. 

It was fireworks. That’s all Peter could think to describe it. Electricity sizzled between them, and the kiss deepened, almost awkward in parts but then perfectly in motion.

It seemed to last forever, but when they pulled apart, it didn’t feel long enough. 

MJ’s expression radiated happiness, “That was pretty cool, Parker.”

“Ditto.”

Their breath hung heavily in the space between them, faces only inches apart. Slowly, they moved away, tethered only by their hands. They were silent for a few moments. 

“So, are we a thing, now? Is that how it works?” Peter whispered uncertainty.

“You’re many things, but a man of words isn’t one of them.”

He winced, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like a dick.”

MJ shook her head, chuckling, “It’s okay. I mean, do you want to be a thing?”

“I do if you do.”

She shoved him, smiling, “What are we, in middle school?”

“I think that’s where my emotional intelligence stopped developing, so yeah.”

MJ giggled and then turned to a passerby.

“Hi, this is Peter Parker, my boyfriend.”

The guy walked right past without batting an eye.

Peter beamed.

“That’s New York for you, now you go.”

An elderly woman was approaching, so Peter took the opportunity. 

“Hi, this is Michelle Jones, my girlfriend.”

The woman settled for a confused half-wave and kept walking. 

“That sounds alright.”

“Not too bad at all.”

Peter took her hand again. 

“How about, hi, this is Michelle Jones, genius and possibly coolest girl of all time?”

“I can do that.”

__________

“Hey there, smiley, what ya got that dopey look on your face for?”

“Oh, no reason.”

Mr. Stark smirked, “Oh, really? Nothing to do with a certain someone on a certain Friday night?”

Peter groaned, “Geez, Monday morning and Ned’s already ratted me out.”

“Well, actually he was talking about it with Betty in homeroom before you got here, but you know me, I’m unable to stay out of students’ private business,” the man winked. 

Peter hung his head, “God, the whole school will know by lunch.”

Mr. Stark shrugged his shoulders, nonplussed, “Did ya have fun?”

“Yeah.”

Mr. Stark patted him on the shoulder, “Good, you need to lighten up a little anyway.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The teacher just laughed.

_________

“Hey man, are you okay with, you know…”

“You and MJ.”

Peter nodded, “Yeah, I know it’s weird because it’s always been us three, and I don’t want it to be weird because we’re the same except MJ and I, like hold hands and stuff now.”

“Dude, it's great. To be honest, I’ve been kinda waiting for you two to get together anyway. Maybe we can all go out on a double date sometime?”

Peter furrowed his brow, “A double date, but you don’t…”

Ned chuckled under his breath, waiting for Peter to connect the dots.

“Wait, Betty?”

“You’ve been so out of it lately I don’t think you really noticed. We made it official over the weekend.”

Peter enveloped Ned in a hug, ignoring the stares of students passing by. 

“That’s awesome, Ned. She’s lucky to have you. And I’m sorry, about not noticing. Things have just been-”

“It’s okay, Peter.” Ned smiled, eyes crinkled at the corners. “I get it.”

Peter knew he had it good, with a best friend like Ned. 

_ You don’t deserve him. _

“Handshake?”

“Handshake.”

__________ 

“Who’s that?”

“Maybe he’s a new teacher.”

“I heard the guidance counsellor quit. Maybe he’s doing that.”

“But it's so early in the semester.”

The room was filled with hushed whispers as students milled around the gym. 

Peter and MJ found seats next to Ned and Betty, but after asking, Peter found that neither of them knew what the assembly was about. 

They didn’t have to wait long.

“Attention, attention, students. Please take your seats. We just have to make a few quick announcements before we let you head off to the next period.”

Mr. Morita cleared his throat. 

“Alright, first, I want to make it clear, school-wide, that our bullying policy still stands and if I hear of any more issues, I will not tolerate that kind of behaviour. You have all been forewarned that there will be serious consequences.”

Peter almost snickered, thinking of all the teachers who had never noticed Flash’s taunts. 

“And next, I’d like to introduce our new guidance counsellor. As you might know, Mr. Stewards is on an extended leave of absence, so please give a warm, Midtown Tech welcome to Mr. Westcott!”

And suddenly, the face that haunted Peter’s nightmares, emerged from the sea of bodies in front of the lectern. 

“Hi, Midtown, I’m Mr. Westcott, I’m looking forward to getting to know each and every one of you over the next few months, and please know my office is always open.”

There it was, that sickening, twisted smile, that sandy blonde hair, all the things that Peter thought he would never have to see again. Never have to endure again. 

Peter felt like that little boy again. Scared and anxious and so, so small. He wanted to crumble, to disappear. 

Suddenly, he wanted to be nothing. 

And as the bell rang, and the students trailed out, Peter followed in a blur, each step shaky and uncertain. 

When MJ and Ned left him to go to their next class, they did so worriedly. 

“Hey, you alright?”

“Yeah, just a little under the weather, might be a stomach bug or something.”

MJ didn’t seem convinced. 

“Well, let Mr. Stark know, he won’t mind if you rest during robotics.”

Peter mumbled something in agreement as she pecked him on the cheek and left. Ned patted him reassuringly on the shoulder and followed. 

Peter didn’t move, barely feeling the students brush past him annoyedly. Eventually, he was alone in the hall.

“Hey kid, are you good?”

Peter glanced at the figure in front of him.

He was face to face with his demon.

“You don’t look so good. Do you want to come sit down or something?”

It was Skip, in teacher clothes with a haircut and stubble, so different and yet the very same. It was Skip, who was his babysitter, and then his friend, the guy who played video games with Peter until video games weren’t enough.

It was Skip, who did terrible things to a scared boy in his room with the lights turned off and the door locked.

It was Skip, who held Peter as he cried when they were finished and apologised and made Peter feel so insignificant. So worthless. 

“No, I’m going to class.”

Skip gave Peter a small smile. 

“Okay, champ, just knock on my door if you need to, I’ll sure need some friends around here.”

_ Friend.  _

_ You are not my friend. You will never be my friend. _

Peter couldn’t find the strength to answer. So he didn’t. 

He just walked away. 

He went to his locker, slung his bag around his shoulders and went to the parking lot.

Peter sat on the bench seat at the front of the entrance and, tears on his cheeks, called May.

“Can you come get me? Please? I need to talk to you about something.” Peter’s voice cracked, betraying his tears. 

“Honey, what’s going on?”

“May, I really need you to come get me. Please, please, please, please, please” he repeated, working himself into hysterics as he sobbed. 

“Calm down, I’ll be there as soon as I can. I love you, just sit tight.”

Peter didn’t remember much of the next few minutes, staring out into the vacant lot in silence. 

He was broken from his stupor by a hand resting on his shoulder. Peter couldn’t suppress the urge to flinch until he realised it was one of the only teachers he liked. 

  
  


“Mr. Stark, I really don’t want to talk to you right now.”

The teacher nodded, taking a seat next to the teen. 

“That’s okay, I don’t feel up to talking either. We can just sit.”

Peter rubbed at his eyes, inhaling slowly. 

A few more minutes passed, but Mr. Stark stayed, his presence alone a comfort.

“How’d you know I was out here?”

“Well, you didn’t show up in class and then your aunt called for me at the office. Said something was wrong. It didn’t take long to find you.”

“Mr. Stark?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

The teacher gave Peter a solemn smile. 

“You feeling better?”

Peter shook his head, “No, I just didn’t want to cry in front of you.”

The man chuckled sadly, “Seems about right.”

Peter spotted May’s beaten up Honda turn into the school. 

“That your aunt?”

“Yeah.”

“Peter, I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s going to get better, trust me. You can always come to talk to me about anything. I don’t mind. 

Peter nodded absentmindedly. 

“I’ll leave you to it.”

The man rose, gripping Peter’s shoulder before heading back into the school. 

May scrambled out of the car, her face softening as she took in Peter’s face. She dropped down beside him, looking defeated.

“You gotta tell me what’s going on, Peter. I hate seeing you like this.”

“May, I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

She gripped his hand. 

“That’s okay, we can work with that, just tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.”

Peter couldn’t fight the tears now. They streamed down, quick and hot. 

“Do you remember Skip?”

She smoothed down his hair and hummed in affirmation.

Peter felt like he was being choked, like the words couldn’t escape as hard as he tried. His head hung as his thoughts swirled around. 

“You remember when he would watch me at his apartment and we would play video games?”

She nodded, expression confused. 

Peter’s cries grew more persistent. 

“It’s okay, take a breath.”

May rubbed his hand between her thumb and forefinger. 

“After a while, we didn’t play video games.”

May shifted slightly, “What do you mean, honey?”

Peter glanced up at his aunt, his protector. His biggest champion. 

He knew it would break her heart, but there was no other option. Peter couldn’t go to school, not with Skip there. 

“May, you’ll be upset with me.”

She shook her head vehemently, “I could never.”

Peter bit down on his lip. 

May continued, “What did you do, if you didn’t play video games?”

Hands trembling, he answered, “Skip would hurt me.”

“What do you mean, he hurt you? What did he do?”

May’s voice was filled with concern, but also, something deeper, more primal.

“I don’t want to say it out loud,” Peter whispered, head low.

May gathered him in her arms, “Honey, I think it’s important that you tell me. This is just eating you up inside. You gotta let it out.”

Peter considered this, “Can I write it down?”

“Of course.”

Peter slid his phone out of his pocket.

He opened notes, thumb hovering over the keyboard. 

_ I was raped.  _

Peter registered May’s sharp intake of breath. Her lip began to tremble, eyes watery. Peter collapsed into her arms, sobs erupting from his ribcage.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry...”

May rubbed his back, holding Peter tightly to her chest as she silently cried in unison with her nephew.

“It’s not your fault, sweetheart. It’s not your fault.”

She held him for a long time, whispering comforting things into his ear that could never erase the pain. 

_ Why do I feel worse? _

__________

  
  


Peter explained the details later that afternoon, including that Skip was the new guidance counsellor.

Within twenty-four hours, May went to the police, and then she went to the school. 

Peter wanted to disappear. 

_ Maybe I should disappear.  _

The thought wasn’t so unappealing. 

  
  
  



	5. one tragedy, five people

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five people experience a tragedy, and each have their own story to tell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that this chapter deals with some heavy issues; suicide, rape, rape of a minor and referenced character death. Please stay safe and do not read if you feel like these will trigger you. This story does not glamourise or romanticise suicide, sexual assault or rape in any way. Please think about this before leaving comments.

**Part 1: May Parker**

May Parker was a woman who didn’t take shit. Not from anyone.

When she was five, and a boy tried to play kiss-chasey with her, she punched him on the nose.

When she was fifteen, and her father told her she’d never be smart enough to work anywhere that wasn’t a supermarket, she got straight A’s.

When she graduated from high school, she dropped her deadbeat boyfriend and got accepted into a nursing course.

When she was thirty, her brother-in-law died along with his wife and she took her nephew in, despite that she’d never wanted kids.

When she became a mother, to Peter, out of unfortunate circumstances, she swore she’d never loved someone more fiercely.

When she was thirty-seven, her husband, Ben, was shot, and only when she was alone, would she crumble to pieces.

But when she found out what that miserable, horrific bastard did to her Peter, she clutched her baby-boy as tight as she could and fell apart.

Sometimes, she reasoned with herself, it’s okay to break, if only for a moment.

It didn’t take long for the guilt to sink in. May recalled those moments when she’d let Skip into her home. She wondered what kind of mother she was, if she hadn’t known then, hadn’t seen past the fake smiles and pleasantries, hadn’t had that instinct, to take Peter and run.

She wondered if she could deal with this without Ben. God, how that familiar ache in her heart grew.

May thought that she’d never unhear the horrors Peter whispered in his testimonial. She’d taken his hand, bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, and didn’t bother wiping away the tears. But, in a horrible sort of way, she’d never been prouder. He told his story, he was brave enough to admit he was hurting, to admit he couldn’t go on longer without help. Skip was removed from Midtown, they were in the beginnings of a court case that could put him in jail. May thought, I will not let Skip Westcott beat the shit out of me, or my son. Not ever.

She’d arrived home late from work a few days later, rental DVDs in hand, and she remembered, with exact detail, the moments leading up to the moment. That moment. She’d stumbled into Peter’s room, feet aching from her shift, a smile stretched across her features, only to see him passed out on the bed, with empty pill containers at his side, likely Ben’s old prescriptions.

She knew the procedures, knew the facts, recognised the terminology the ambulance used on the phone. She knew what to do, knew the likely outcomes, and yet, it was different this time. Something was different, because it was her Peter. Years on the frontlines could never prepare you, not fully, to see your child, half-dead, strewn across a freshly made bed.

Something inside her shattered, beyond repair.

May, a woman who had never taken shit, not from anyone, had finally broken.

**Part Two: Michelle Jones**

Rumours spread, fast. This, MJ knew well.

Peter disappeared from school. Mr. Westcott, only two days after he’d arrived, was escorted from the premises by three armed policewomen and men, in the middle of lunch. Whispers stirred among curious students. Students were asked, cautiously, by teachers with solemn faces, if Mr. Westcott had done anything inappropriate toward them in the short time he’d been there. The hushed whispers turned into loud conversation.

Peter became nonexistent. A few students saw in the news, that a teacher had been removed from a Queens school under sexual abuse allegations. Peter didn’t answer any texts, not from Ned or MJ. Flash Thompson swore he saw Parker leave the school after talking with Mr. Westcott in the halls. He told this to anyone who would listen.

MJ wanted to be mad, really, she did, but she knew, they all did, what was going on.

After all, rumours spread, fast.

When Mr. Stark, with a crushed, grim expression, told them all to take their seats in homeroom, there was something different in his tone that demanded silence. Days had passed with little information from the school, and MJ tried to push the thoughts away. Surely, Peter’s absence, Flash’s statement, the allegations, they were all a coincidence. Some big misunderstanding.

But even she could not erase the look Peter had given her after Mr. Westcott stood at the lectern.

Mr. Stark’s eye bags were red and puffy, eyes glassy from tears that had not yet formed. MJ, fleetingly, wished she could have drawn his face, in that exact moment. He teetered on the edge of his desk, gripping the bridge of his nose, head cocked toward the ground.

“There’s something very serious I need to tell you all. I’m expecting you to act maturely. This is not a joke, this is not and will never be funny. If I hear you talking shit, there will be severe consequences, you hear me?”

The students nodded, breathlessly. Mr. Stark had never spoken to them like this before. MJ felt it coming. The ball was about to drop.

“Peter was hospitalised yesterday afternoon, after an attempted suicide. He’s in stable condition, and we are all very lucky that he’s okay.”

The wind was sucked out of MJ’s stomach. She looked desperately over to Ned, who met her eyes intensely with panic. MJ didn’t hear anything else Mr. Stark had to say. Neither of them did. It was probably something that was supposed to be comforting, something that met the school’s legal response to suicide requirements, but she was frozen, body immobile and unresponsive. Her brain was not. She wondered how Peter had done it. Had he cut his wrists? Tried to drown himself? Taken one too many pills? She wondered if, when he did it, he thought he was doing the world a favour. She wondered how she would have ever survived in a world without Peter. She wondered how close it came to that being a reality.

The bell rang. MJ didn’t see the students somberly leave their desks, with worried glances thrown at both her and Ned. Ned slowly slid his seat over to MJ’s desk, and they hugged each other fiercely. He held her as sobs wracked her body and she did the same for him.

MJ heard the door softly close and was thankful that Mr. Stark didn’t ask them to go to class. He stayed, the whole morning until they were picked up by their parents. Whatever Mr. Stark had said to MJ’s mother, before they left, she was grateful for. MJ certainly didn’t feel like explaining. Her mother’s eyes were soft, understanding, as she drove out of the parking lot. She held onto MJ’s hand the entire ride home.

**Part Three: Ned Leeds**

For Ned, friends never came easily. He’d been the outcast, pushed to the side, picked last, and managed to only keep a string of acquaintances throughout his younger years. He’d been bullied for his weight, attempted, at a very young age, to commit to a string of new diets every other week, and cried silently into his bedsheets after sneaking into his parents’ bathroom and finding that he’d gained a few pounds.

Ned wasn’t one to keep up a tough exterior, but he was a people pleaser, as well. He seemed miserable but forced a smile when his father would sit down to build lego with him, and when he and his mother went for walks to the park. They looked on with concern and tried so very hard to help him, booking playdates with uninterested classmates, taking Ned to a one-off dietary consultant they could barely afford, trying their best to cook healthier. It didn’t help that the healthy foods the dietician suggested were way out of their weekly budget.

Ned was bright, he became interested in computers and video games; he only wished there was someone to do it with.

On the first day of middle school, his wish was granted.

Peter Parker, scrawny with baggy trousers and a head full of curls, chose, out of the entire classroom, to sit next to Ned. Peter didn’t look at him like a freak, in fact, Peter seemed relieved when Ned nervously talked back to him.

They spent that day trading lunch, whispering about lego kits and Star Wars during class when they weren’t supposed to, and at the end of the day, Peter even invited Ned over to play a new game his aunt had bought for him over summer vacation.

For them, the rest was history. They were, from then on, the best of friends.

Ned was there for Peter, and Peter for Ned. Through Peter’s grief, and Ned’s mental health issues, there wasn’t anything either of them couldn’t make better with a hug and their secret handshake.

Ned was elated to find out that Peter and MJ were an item. He’d been wondering when it would happen. He was even more ecstatic to find that Betty Brant, his crush for god-know-how-long, returned his affections. Ned thought that things were looking up for them both. Peter had been so distant, but he was finally opening up again.

But Ned couldn’t ignore the rumours circling around the school. He couldn’t ignore the feeling that the Westcott incident and Peter’s absences were related. He’d seen Peter’s face when Westcott was announced. He’d seen that same look a hundred times before, when he had to pull Peter out of one of his moments, with a hug and a reassuring smile.

Ned’s best friend had been hurt.

And when Mr. Stark announced the news… well, Ned… Ned was out of ideas. This was something he couldn’t fix with a hug and a handshake. As he looked into MJ’s eyes, both caught in a similar emotion, he knew he’d failed his best friend.

**Part Four: Tony Stark**

Tony Stark had a soft spot for Peter Parker. He wasn’t the kind of teacher to pick favourites, except it was hard when a kid like that walked into the classroom. Bright, funny, a heart as big as anything, and a resolve to do good, even when it hurt.

And so, through trial and tribulation, it pained Tony to see a kid with so much potential, so much kindness, to be weighed down by grief and pain beyond his years. Tony had made a promise, as he did with every student that he saw, that he would be there for Peter Parker.

When Peter cried on the bench seat outside of school, Tony found it hard to keep himself together. Sure, he’d seen plenty of students cry, but never like this.

When he found out about the court case, about Westcott, when he had to ask his own students if he’d ever done something to them when he knew that Peter’s answer would have been yes, he was livid. Tony Stark had never been so uncontrollably enraged. Westcott was removed, and rumours flew. He put Flash Thompson in detention for the next three months, at least, for what he’d heard the kid whispering to Cindy Moon in homeroom. He wondered if Flash Thompson was the reason, on Peter’s first day, he’d run into class crying. He tried to respect Peter’s boundaries, but now, Tony wished he didn’t.

He felt the anger rise exponentially when Ned and MJ clutched each other like lifelines after he told them. After his night at the hospital, at Peter’s bedside.

He didn’t move them. He locked the classroom door and watched on, struggling to keep his emotion at bay. Tony looked at them, such a tight-knit unit, and thanked any god, if there was one, that MJ and Ned weren’t grieving over a dead boy.

Watching, he recalled the events of the night before. He got the call, from a distraught May Parker, whose voice fluctuated between hysterical and oddly calm, torn between her identity as a nurse and as a mother.

His heart stilled.

“He’s okay, they think. I’m sorry. You’ve just been such a godsend to him, and I didn’t have anyone else to call. It’s just me and him. I wanted you to know, before everyone else.”

Peter Parker had attempted to kill himself at 5:04 pm on a Wednesday afternoon in his bedroom in an apartment in Queens.

That fact had yet to settle with Tony.

As Tony rushed from his desk to his car, he thought of all the things he could have done. He should have seen that there was more to the pain than grief. He’d failed as Peter Parker’s teacher, mentor, and protector.

Peter was so pale, he almost blended in with the white sheets on the hospital bed. Eyes closed, and hooked up to an IV, Tony was looking at a skeleton. How had he missed the signs? Or had he ignored them? Tony didn’t know.

May was grateful that he came to join her, a constant vigil at Peter’s bedside. May, Tony soon learned, was a practical woman. She’d formulated a plan of attack before he’d even arrived. Of how to help Peter, of how they could both help him. He’d agreed to do anything he could, and held her hand as she admitted her guilt for not seeing the signs soon enough.

He confessed the same, and they sat, in a silence of grief, united by one thing. Their love for Peter.

The only time he stepped out was to answer a call from his fiance, Pepper.

“Tony, where are you? It’s getting late.”

“Pep?” Tony hated the way his voice cracked.

She responded, gently, sensing something wrong, “What’s happening, Tony?”

“My student, Peter?”

He could almost hear her nodding, “Yeah, honey. Bright, very talented. You finally got him to join your robotics club. I clearly remember driving around Queens with you, looking for him.”

He swallowed thickly, “I’m at the hospital… Pep, I don’t know what to do, he… he tried to kill himself.”

Pepper breathed in sharply, “Queens Memorial, yeah? I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

“You don’t have to-”

“I’m coming. Sit tight. He’s under the care of his aunt, right? She’ll be wanting a coffee. So will you.”

She was always one to take action.

“Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

That night, the two of them, along with May, sat vigilantly near Peter. May didn’t sleep. Neither did they. Tony left only to go to reception and organise payment for Peter’s hospital fees. It wasn’t much, but he felt like it was the only thing he could do.

When he reentered the room and saw Peter’s eyes flutter, confused and a little dazed, Tony found himself making another promise.

I’m going to make sure this never happens again. I’m going to help Peter Parker, whatever it takes.

**Part Five: Peter Parker**

Peter Parker had been broken for a long time. He’d spent the last few days recalling the events that made him so.

His parents died. He was raped by Skip, multiple times. Ben was shot, and Peter was there. He was bullied, mirthlessly, by Flash. It all added up.

It wasn’t until he received the message, which he had sifted through to find after all of the texts from MJ and Ned, that his more dangerous thoughts took control.

It read, Penis Parker, heard you got frisky with the new guidance counsellor. Tell me, I bet you wanted it, right?

Freaks like you deserve to die.

It was from an unknown number, but he didn’t have to be a genius to figure out who sent it.

He looked in the mirror with contempt. Everyone at Midtown knew, then. It was at least a rumour, that Skip’s removal, the court case, all went back to him, even though he’d chosen to remain anonymous to the media. How had they connected the dots so quickly?

Peter thought about all the trouble his friends would be going through, all the trouble he’d put May and Ben through.

He felt the shame. His classmates knew that Skip’s hands had been all over him, maybe they thought that Peter wanted it, asked for it.

He thought it was hard enough to tell the officers what happened. This was harder.

“I didn’t want it,” he whispered to his reflection.

“I didn’t want it, I didn’t want it,” Peter repeated, over and over, like a mantra.

He wasn’t aware of the wetness of his face. He wasn’t aware of the scratch marks down his arms, the indents from his fingernails on his palms.

Inside, he screamed, it wasn’t my fault.

Outside, he rolled the pill container around in his hand, after picking it up from the drawer in his nightstand. It had been there since he told May. Three long days, waiting there, mocking him. He felt bad for taking them from May’s ensuite when she was at work. Now, he was glad he’d done it.

He looked at the name on the bottle.

Ben Parker.

This is what Ben wants you to do, Peter. This is a sign. Make it easier for May. She can leave the trial behind.

Leave the shame of having a nephew who was raped.

First, he neatened his bedsheets. Put everything in its place. Tidied his drawers, opened the window to let in a cool breeze. He did this all with a sense of finality. It felt like a weight was lifting from his shoulders.

He wouldn’t make this messy for May. He’d lie in his bed, no blood, just like he was sleeping.

He would do this, for her. If Peter knew anything, it was that he loved May enough to do this for her.

He swallowed each white tablet without water, letting the saliva pool in his mouth. He leaned back, the pill bottle somewhere at his side, and thought of his friends, of Mr. Stark, of his parents, and Ben, who he would finally get to see again.

A swirl of wind reached out from the window and caressed his face.

God forbid, he smiled, tears pooling in his eyes, and closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was really sad for me to write, but trust things will slowly get better from here. Please use the resources respective to your country if you feel affected by any of the themes presented in this chapter. Let me know what you thin down below. Again, I'm not seeking to glamourise or romanticise suicide, rape, or sexual assault. Please be mindful of this when leaving a comment and when reading further chapters.


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